


Criminality

by surlybobbies



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Misunderstandings, ProfoundPrompts, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:06:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/surlybobbies/pseuds/surlybobbies
Summary: Prompt: A & B have the same exact car. A accidentally kidnaps B after B crawls into their backseat and falls asleep while too drunk to drive.(In which Dean accidentally breaks into and falls asleep in Cas's car, and Cas accidentally kidnaps the stranger who had been eyeing him all night at the bar.)





	Criminality

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cryptomoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cryptomoon/gifts).



> Big thanks to cryptomoon on Discord and Tumblr for the [prompt](http://space-wolf.com/post/167785467262/writing-prompt-1-a-b-have-the-same-exact-car-a), as well as saltnhalo for the beta!

Benny had said that his bachelor party would be a small get-together with a few of his work friends. He had said that it would be simple - a few beers, some pupus, and maybe a wink from the bartender on his last night out as a single man. At most, he’d said, there’d be a tequila shot or two. Maybe they’d get a little buzzed and Dean would get someone’s number and they’d sit in Dean’s car for a little bit to sober up before Dean drove his buddy home to his loving fiancee. 

That’s what Benny had said.

What Benny had apparently meant, however, was 15 of Benny’s friends and relatives buying round after round of beer and shot after shot of tequila and making bawdy jokes that would have made Bobby blush behind his beard had he been within earshot. 

The party scene was not Dean’s scene anymore - had not been his scene since at least 10 years prior, when drinking all night hadn’t translated to calling in sick the next morning and heaving up liquor all day.

He had stayed at the bar only for Benny, who’d been Dean’s rock when Dad had died and Sammy hadn’t answered his phone - but if Dean were being completely honest, the dark-haired stranger in the corner of the bar had also played a role in Dean’s decision not to ditch.

The stranger was not alone - though, like Dean, he seemed to be operating on the fringes of his companions. He nursed one beer throughout the time Dean watched him, murmuring a few words to the questions he was posed, and, call Dean crazy, but when the stranger wasn’t talking, he seemed to be watching Dean.

It had been a while since Dean had felt so exhilarated by the glance of a stranger. He soaked up the attention for as long as he could. He took every round of beer and laughed at all of the inappropriate jokes and caught the stranger’s eye enough times that there could be no doubt that Dean was interested.

Eventually, though, Dean could no longer ignore the effects of the alcohol. At some point in the night, his mind had become two seconds slower than his mouth and the room two seconds slower than that. He knew he was about half a beer away from doing a kegstand even though he wasn’t entirely sure he knew what that was anymore, so he clapped a hand on Benny’s arm, hugged him, wished him a good marriage, and walked away. He tripped on his jeans but remembered to send the dark-haired stranger a wink before he pushed on the door that said pull.

He wrestled with the door for a few seconds before a well-meaning stranger opened the door for him, shouting after him that _you’d better not be driving, bro!_ Dean lifted a hand in acknowledgement, because no way was he driving when the backseat of his ‘67 Impala was calling to him. 

The cool night air made him shiver, though Dean could feel the liquor’s heat radiating from his skin. The gravel crunched underneath his shoes as he patted his pockets and came up with his keys. The farther away Dean got from the raucous energy of the bar and the invigorating gaze of the stranger, the more obvious it was that he had overindulged. Exhaustion weighed his bones down. He needed a nap. And some tacos. 

The nap, however, was the priority. The decision cheered him up some. He fumbled his keys as he tried to unlock the door, and he wasn’t quite sure the key slid home, but despite his clumsy fingers the door to the backseat opened.

He climbed in, exhaustion in every muscle and joint of his body. He only just remembered to slap the locking mechanism down, then he huddled into a corner of the seat and breathed in. The last thing he was aware of was an unfamiliar scent - subtle, refreshing, a little like citrus.

 

 

Cas decided to pull himself away after an hour of pretending to be interested in the conversation between Gabe’s friends. It was kind of his half-brother to invite him, but the bar scene was not Castiel’s scene - and despite how Gabriel scoffed and rolled his eyes, the bar had _never_ been Castiel’s scene, even when he had been younger and more foolish.

At any rate, the handsome stranger who had been sliding sly gazes toward Cas all night had left 15 minutes before and the beer bottle in Cas’s hands had been empty long before then. There was nothing keeping him there. He said his goodbyes, ignoring the subtle arch of Gabriel’s eyebrow, and left the bar. 

His Chevy Impala was tucked into the back corner of the parking lot. In all honesty he had been worried about its safety the whole time he had been sitting with Gabriel, and had only just restrained himself from getting up and checking on it every five minutes. 

As he got closer to the car, however, he saw this his worries were unmerited. The tension that had been sitting in his spine all night left him, and for the first time since setting foot in the bar he felt good - relaxed. He unlocked the driver’s door and slid into the seat, sighing loudly in relief. Despite not getting the stranger’s number - and really, who was Cas kidding? That gorgeous stranger giving _Castiel_ his number? - he felt good about the night. It hadn’t been horribly awkward, and Gabe would leave him alone for at least a few weeks before he started harping on Cas again about his lack of a social life. One hour for a few weeks of peace was a good trade-off.

He turned on the engine and pulled out of the parking space, turning into the road. His studio apartment was only 25 minutes away - probably only 20 now that most people were tucked in bed. He turned the radio on, settling the talk radio to a distant murmur of voices just to kill the late-night silence. 

The freeway was calm. Cas let his mind wander. It wandered over quite contentedly to his memory of the stranger at the bar. He had been around Cas’s age, probably, but maybe a few years younger. He had looked comfortable in the bar, but Cas couldn’t decide if it was because he frequented bars of if the stranger was just the type to look comfortable anywhere.

Maybe, Cas mused, it had been the alcohol loosening the man’s limbs. The man had consumed a worryingly large amount of alcohol. Cas had stopped trying to count how many shots his friends had handed him and how many bottles he had gone through. He seemed to handle them gracefully, though the way he had struggled with the door when he was leaving seemed to indicate otherwise.

He should have gone to see if he was okay, Cas thought. No one that intoxicated should have been driving home alone, but all Cas had thought at the stranger’s leaving was _at least he isn’t leaving with anyone._

It had been stupid and selfish, and he wished he could rewind the clock to that moment so he could get up from his stool, bid his companions goodbye, and help the stranger with the door. 

He would have said, “Good evening,” and asked if the stranger was okay to drive. They would have sat in Cas’s car, and maybe Cas could have dropped him home. Maybe Cas would have a name to match the stranger’s face. 

Cas drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in restlessness and frustration. He would probably never see the stranger again; he shouldn’t have been wasting his time daydreaming. He reached a hand to the volume dial, so he could try to drown out his thoughts, but a noise from the backseat - the slide of cloth against leather - stopped him. His eyes flew to the rearview, but there was nothing there.

Cas returned his hand to the steering wheel without touching the volume dial. He took deep breaths. Maybe he had imagined the noise.

Then there was a rustle, then a groan - louder this time. Someone’s voice from the back seat grumbled, “ _What the fuck._ ” Cas jerked the steering wheel toward the shoulder, slamming on the brakes once he was off the road. He was vaguely aware of a retching noise in the backseat, but his main concern was getting away from the stranger in the backseat of his car.

His heartbeat was hammering in his throat as he put the car in park and grabbed for the keys. Then he was stumbling out into the open air on the side of a mostly empty freeway. He stopped running about twenty feet away, patting his pockets for his phone.

Empty.

He looked around at the freeway, hoping for a car to signal.

Empty.

He was poised to run, but he stared at his car. Waiting for movement. Waiting for someone to come out and point a gun at him, threaten him, ask him for money or for his life. 

Nothing happened. He waited, heart in throat, hands clammy.

Then movement from the backseat - slow, jerky. A man’s head was suddenly silhouetted against the light of the street lamps. The door opened roughly.

Someone stumbled out, holding onto the door heavily for support. 

Cas’s hands, which had risen to form fists in front of him, slowly fell to his sides. The stranger from the bar, the very same stranger whose hands Cas had imagined gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, squinted at him from behind the open back door of _Cas’s_ Impala. This was surreal. 

The stranger scowled at him. “What the _fuck_ are you doing with my car, dude?” he yelled, though the effect of his anger was lessened by the fact that he could barely stand up.

Cas stared at him. “Did you say _your_ car?” 

The man scoffed, but he rolled his head too far back and had to catch himself before he fell backward. “This lady,” he said, slapping a hand onto the roof of Cas’s impala, “is _mine_.” Then his mouth twisted in anger and he spat out, “ _Thief.”_

Cas opened his mouth to argue, but stopped himself; he could not foresee a single way an argument with a drunk man could turn out well. 

Eventually the man shook his head and pointed a shaky finger to a spot five feet to Cas’s left. “‘ve decided not to kill you,” he said, “Be thankful!” Then he stumbled to the driver’s door and tripped as he tried to get in.

Cas could feel a migraine coming on. He had just been thinking about this stranger’s hands in his hair, and now the stranger was trying to steal his car. Cas clutched the keys in his hand more tightly and watched from a distance as the man struggled from the driver’s seat to reach the door handle so he could close it.

As he struggled, he yelled in Cas’s general direction, “How th’ fuck did you start the car, ‘uh? Did- _did you hotwire my - goddammit - I knew you were too hot!”_

Then he slammed the door closed.

Cas spent a second or two puzzling out the meaning of the stranger’s outburst, but the confusion transformed into indignation when his words really sunk in. The stranger thought Cas stole his car? _Hotwired_ it? Cas took a quick peek at his clothes. A blue button-down, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, dark jeans, sensible shoes. Hardly the outfit to commit grand theft auto.

Cas glared at the figure in the car, whose head was ducked forward like he was having trouble with the key. As Cas watched, the stranger seemed to give up, letting his head loll back against the seat.

Swallowing his apprehension, Cas walked hesitantly to the driver’s side. He needed his car back. Once he was close enough, he reached out a hand to the door handle, but to his surprise the door popped open. 

The man’s foot landed on the ground. The door was open just enough for Cas to hear the stranger say, almost blandly, “This… isn’t my Impala.”

Cas, relieved that the stranger’s anger seemed to have fizzled out, opened the door a little wider. He leaned on it and surveyed the man. “No, it isn’t.”

The man laughed weakly, his eyes closing. “Thank fuck for that.”

Cas was almost too busy trying to think of a way to get the man out of his car to hear what he said next.

“Thank fuck for that,” the man repeated, “because I don’t give thieves my number.”

Cas ignored the stutter in his heartbeat. “You’re drunk.”

The man grinned. His eyes were half-closed. “And you’re hot.” He inched away from the door. “Drive me back for my car.”

The suggestion was tempting, but the man was too intoxicated to be left alone. “You can’t drive in this state.”

“My car’s hot,” the man said, out of the blue. He ran his fingers over the steering wheel. He didn’t seem to be listening to Cas anymore.

Cas ran a hand over his eyes. “That’s wonderful,” he said.

The stranger patted the leather of the seat. “This car’s hot, too.”

“So you’ve said,” Cas agreed on a sigh.

The man stared. His eyes seemed to focus, just for a second, on Cas’s face. Then he was closing them, groaning, “ _Dammit,_ you’re hot. _”_

This time, when Cas said “...so you’ve said,” there were the beginnings of a smile on his face. 

 

 

Dean woke up with the niggling sensation that something was horribly wrong. Part of it could probably be blamed on the epic migraine that had taken residence behind Dean’s left eyebrow, but most of it, Dean thought, had something to do with _last night._

It hit him. He shot up from bed. No. From the couch. No. From _someone else’s_ couch. He clapped a hand over his mouth before he started cursing and waking anyone up. With his mouth still sealed over his mouth, he slowly took in his surroundings. A studio apartment, neatly kept. Over the back of the couch he had slept on was a queen-sized bed, the covers rucked up as though someone had been sleeping there recently.

Whoever it was was nowhere to be seen. 

Dean patted his jeans - thank God they were still on - and found his phone. His keys were on the table in front of him. 

But. His car. He shuddered to think of Baby all alone in that parking lot, left to languish by herself in the middle of the night with no protection.

The door to the bathroom opened. Dean flinched and regarded the person who walked out warily. It was the man from the bar.

Memories came back to Dean all at once. He opened his mouth.

The man had a towel in his hand that he had been using to dry his hair. It hung limp now as he stared at Dean.

“You’re awake,” he said, a little numbly.

Dean swallowed. He would blame what he said next on the hangover: “You’re shirtless.”

The man’s mouth snapped shut. The hand holding the towel moved to hover in front of him. “You have a habit of stating the obvious,” he said. 

His face was pink, probably from the shower. The problem was that Dean could see miles more skin - and all of that was pink-tinged from the shower too. He hitched on a grin, though even he knew it was a weak one. “Name’s Dean,” he said. “I haven’t had that much to drink in years.”

The man was still standing in the same position, looking at a loss but still unfairly handsome. “I’m Cas,” he said. “And uh - your car.”

Alarm bells rang in Dean’s head. “What about it?” he said.

Cas cleared his throat. “My brother works at a towing company and he brought it here this morning.”

Dean sagged against the arm of the couch in relief. “Savior,” he said, closing his eyes. The migraine was still there.

“I assume it was the Toyota Corolla?”

Dean’s eyes flew open. “ _What?_ ”

But Cas was turning away. It was obvious he was trying to tamp down a smile.

“You asshole,” Dean said.

“You also have a habit of repeating sentiments already shared before,” Cas said, raising an eyebrow. He turned around and walked to the drawer next to the queen-sized bed. Dean was treated to the subtle shift of the muscles of his back. It was only when Cas turned around, his eyebrow still raised, that Dean remembered that he was expected to respond.

“Wha - sorry, did I call you an asshole last night?”

Cas was in the middle of unfolding a T-shirt - grey - but his eyes flicked to Dean’s briefly. “Among other things.”

Dean ran his hands through his hair. “Look, dude, seriously, _thank you_ for bringing my car here and not calling the cops on me, but I gotta know what happened last night.”

Cas sat on his bed, his feet bare. He had put on the grey shirt, but he had not changed out of his boxers. Dean tried very hard not to notice the few inches of thigh action he was getting. Cas scratched his neck as he leveled Dean with an unwavering look. “Do you want me to start before or after you threw up in my car?”

Dean’s mouth dropped open. “Holy -” He ran his tongue over his teeth and winced at the feeling. “Jesus. Fuck. Damn. Cas, I’m so sorry.”

Cas watched him with a blank stare.

Dean pressed the bridge of his nose. “ _Fuck._ I threw up in your car.”

“It wasn’t the way I envisioned spending my Saturday night. You’ll have to -”

“Anything,” Dean interrupted. “Holy shit, _anything._ I’ll pay for the deep clean, vacuuming, anything. Reupholstery? Done!”

“Make it up to me,” Cas finished, though his eyebrow had risen at the mention of reupholstering the car. 

Dean stared at Cas. The migraine had not quite receded, and the longer he stared at Cas, the more he could feel his pulse beating behind his brow.

A bashful expression stole over Cas’s face at Dean’s prolonged staring. He looked down at his feet. “With your number,” he clarified. 

Dean tapped his ear with a finger. “Did you - did you just say you want my number?”

Cas was definitely blushing now. “You offered,” he mumbled.

“Last night,” Dean supplied. When Cas nodded, Dean let out a breath. “What the fuck else did I say last night?”

A smirk lifted the corner of Cas’s mouth. “You called me hot.”

Dean, who had already suffered a number of embarrassments during this tender hour, felt his cheeks warm. 

“Multiple times.”

Dean pressed a hand to his left ear, where he was sure redness was spreading. 

“You actually called me too hot to be true,” Cas said, lifting his eyes to Dean. 

Dean looked at the door, wishing it were closer, wishing he felt well enough to get up and bolt. Then he looked at Cas, who was watching him closely. Dean shrugged. “It - it’s true.”

The blush that had brightened Cas’s face before resurged. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s eyes held Cas’s. Neither of them moved, though Cas’s lips lifted in a small smile.

Eventually, Dean looked away, clearing his throat. “Anyway,” he said, “How does breakfast sound?” It didn’t sound great to Dean himself, but any excuse he could find to spend more time with Cas was worth the potential grease migraine.

Cas smiled at him. It was wide and genuine and bashful, and Dean felt himself return it exactly the same way. “It sounds wonderful, Dean,” Cas said. Then his grin turned the tiniest bit more wicked. “Your car or mine?”

Dean tried to come up with a retort; he really did. What ended up coming out of his mouth, however, was “Uh,” and then, “Uhm.”

“I don’t think you’re well enough to drive,” Cas said, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let me get changed.”

He rifled through his drawers and came up with a pair of jeans. He was about to walk into the bathroom (to Dean’s disappointment) but stopped short when he saw Dean. He licked his lips. “Would you - do you need to borrow a shirt?”

Dean pretended not to be utterly turned on by the idea of wearing Cas’s shirt. “That’d be great, yeah.”

Cas walked over again to his drawer and spent a few seconds selecting a shirt. He eventually lent Dean a dark green one, plain but soft against Dean’s fingers. “Your eyes,” is all Cas said before he ducked his head and fled into the bathroom.

Dean tamped down the smile lifting his lips and shed his T-shirt. It reeked of alcohol, smoke, and sweat. In contrast, Cas’s shirt was ambrosia. It smelled like an orange orchard, vaguely familiar. Ears warm, he realized it was the scent he had noticed before he had knocked out in the backseat of the car.

The door opened and Cas came out, his hair combed and styled. He looked good. Refreshed. Confident. Dean was _so_ glad he wasn’t a thief. 

Cas left the bathroom door open. He seemed to waver a bit, eyes wide, mouth open, before saying, “There’s an extra toothbrush.”

Dean nodded, not trusting himself to say anything but “Thanks” before moving past Cas - he smelled _good,_ dammit - and shutting himself in the bathroom.

The bathroom was neat and well-kept just like the rest of the apartment. Like Cas had said, there was an unopened toothbrush package laid on a paper towel on the counter. Dean stared at it for thirty seconds before even daring to touch it. It was the hazy memory of throwing up in Cas’s Impala that made him wince and tear it open.

A few minutes later, Dean emerged. He didn’t feel quite as squeaky clean as he liked, but he was fresh enough to get through breakfast. His migraine was receding, too, maybe from the simple pleasure of seeing Dean’s toothbrush hanging out near Cas’s. There was no guarantee he would use it again, but considering that Dean was about to go to breakfast with the man whose car he had broken into (and then thrown up into), he figured the possibilities were endless. 

“Ready?” Cas asked, looking up from his phone to meet Dean’s eyes. Almost immediately his eyes dropped to Dean’s green shirt, then to Dean’s eyes again. A pleased smile tugged at his lips.

Dean returned it, feeling almost giddy. “Ready.”

They walked to the door, but reached for the door knob at the same time. Dean didn’t think. Instead of grasping the door knob, he touched Cas’s hand, wrapping his fingers around the edge of Cas’s palm.

Cas met Dean’s gaze. His eyebrows rose into his hairline, but then his eyes darted down to Dean’s lips for two seconds, and Dean knew he got the message. “I have pancake mix,” Cas said, which wasn’t supposed to be sexy, but still made Dean’s knees weak. Cas’s eyes hadn’t moved from his lips.

Dean swallowed. He licked his lips. “Do you have eggs, flour, milk, and butter?”

That brought Cas’s eyes to Dean’s in polite confusion. “Yes.”

“Then if we’re going to stay in, we’re going to make pancakes from scratch.” This time he let his gaze slip down to Cas’s lips. It stayed there. 

“I’m amenable,” Cas murmured, and despite the ingredients being in the opposite direction, he stepped in closer to Dean. He pulled his hand from Dean’s and wrapped it around Dean’s bicep.

“‘Amenable,’” Dean mocked, suppressing a smile. “I should have known you weren’t a thief.” He hooked his fingers into Cas’s belt loops and pulled, making Cas stumble a little. His other hand grasped Dean’s arm on reflex. It stayed there.

Dean didn’t pull away. He leaned forward instead and pressed a lingering kiss to Cas’s lips: sweet, simple, a taste of what was to come.

 

Later, over Dean’s specialty pancakes, Cas said, “To be fair, I’m far worse than a thief. I did kidnap you.”

“Only because I broke into your car and tried to steal it.”

“I called the tow company on you.”

“I threw up in the backseat.”

Cas put his fork down. He looked pale. “Thank you for reminding me.”

Dean hooked a foot behind Cas’s calf and dragged it ever-so-slowly upward. Red bloomed in Cas’s cheeks. Dean grinned. “I said I’d make it up to you, Cas.”

Cas’s answering grin was slow to come, but when it did, it was almost predatory. “Great. We can start with the deep clean after breakfast.” He pointed his fork over Dean’s shoulder, where Cas kept his cleaning supplies specifically for his car. “I have everything we need.”

That hadn’t been anywhere near what Dean had meant - his thoughts had been leaning more toward the getting-dirty than the getting-clean - but he surprised himself. He smiled at Cas, and it was genuine. He felt affection in his veins, running warm and deep. “That sounds great, Cas,” he said, and when Cas’s eyes grew soft, Dean couldn’t help it. “Sounds perfect.”

 

 

**Three years later**

“Look, she’s nice and all, but my baby’s _hot_.”

Cas undid his tie roughly, glaring at Dean in the reflection of the hotel mirror. “You called my car hot when we first met, and now three years later she’s just _nice_?”

“Some gals don’t age well.”

Cas stopped in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt. Whoever had ironed it - Sam, probably, in the nervous hours leading up to the wedding - had put too much starch, and it had been stiff all throughout the ceremony. “First of all,” Cas said, “That is unbelievably misogynistic and _don’t_ tell me you said it just to piss me off because you will, in fact, piss me off - and second of all, if you didn’t notice once in the last three years, _my car looks exactly like yours._ ”

Sighing, Dean got up from where he was sitting on the bed and approached. He wrapped his arms around Cas from behind. “First of all,” he said, hooking his chin on Cas’s shoulder and catching his husband’s gaze in the mirror, “I didn’t say that to piss you off; I said it to make you laugh because - guess what - it’s our honeymoon, and we should be in bed right now buzzing off the hotel’s cheap champagne.” The hands locked around Cas’s stomach moved toward the buttons Cas had left fastened. “Second of all,” he continued, dropping his voice, turning his lips to Cas’s ear, plucking Cas’s buttons from their holes slowly, “You’re right; they look exactly the same. That’s why it doesn’t matter which one we take.”

Cas watched Dean’s progress through half-lidded eyes, humming in pleasure. “So we’re taking mine,” he said.

Dean’s fingers stopped abruptly on the last button. His voice was decidedly less silky when he said, “I’ve already written ‘Just Married’ on the back window. We’re taking mine.”

Cas snorted and shrugged out of Dean’s hold, stalking to their half-packed bags, where he started picking through the contents to find a T-shirt. “Your handwriting is hardly romantic, Dean. I don’t want to drive cross-country with your chicken scratch obscuring the rearview.”

“Who says you’ll be driving?” Dean muttered under his breath.

Cas paused in the act of unfolding a shirt. His head swiveled slowly to face his husband. “What did you say?”

Dean sighed, holding up both his hands in surrender. “Nothing,” he said.

Cas glared but otherwise let the remark slide. He was moving to unfasten the last button of his dress shirt when Dean was suddenly in front of him, replacing Cas’s hands with his own with a soft nudge.

“That’s my job,” he murmured lowly, stepping in close. Then, after a pause, “I’m sorry.”

Cas dropped his hands and sighed, closing his eyes. He let Dean peel off the shirt and then run warm hands over Cas’s bare shoulders. “I’m tired,” Cas whispered.

Dean kissed his neck. “Let’s go to bed.”

It sounded like a good idea, but instead Cas wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and hid his face in Dean’s collar. 

“Hey,” Dean said into Cas’s hair, caressing his arms. “Guess what. We’re married.”

Cas laughed lightly. “Not for much longer if we aren’t using my car tomorrow.”

Dean pressed a kiss on Cas’s head. “I heard someone threw up in it three years ago.”

“I also kidnapped someone in it. How does that sound?”

Dean pictured it - starting off on the road in the same car that started everything, “Just Married” in Cas’s loopy scrawl on the back window, Cas in the driver’s seat with his hands exactly at ten and two, and Dean, singing along to the radio with a ring on his finger - a ring Cas gave him. “Sounds perfect.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This gave me a hard time, but I'm glad I finished it. Thanks again to my beta, saltnhalo, and for the encouragement from the profound bond discord server.
> 
> Rebloggable version [here](http://surlybobbies.tumblr.com/post/170290906976/criminality-deancas%22).


End file.
